Return
by Ali Flagg
Summary: What was it like in the land of the dead? oneshot? R&R pretty please!


Everything was white. A man raised his hands and waved them in front of his face. Not even shadows fell. White was all around. It was suffocating. The man twisted his head to look to his right. Nothing. Maybe he had gone blind? He closed his eyes. Blackness blotted out the white. He wasn't blind, then.

A wisp of breeze ruffled his clothes and cooled his skin. He thought he could hear wind chimes tinkling. A peaceful feeling began to wash over him. He realized his body was aching and he forced himself to relax. He was lying on what felt like ground, cool and smooth.

The breeze began to pick up. The man thought it would be a wonderful wind to sail by. The thought was fleeting, soon followed by another: '_What is sailing?'_

Sailing, whatever it was, sounded wonderful. It also sounded important. The man felt his heart start to beat faster. He strained to remember what sailing was, but it had slipped away. '_Doesn't matter,_' the man thought to himself. _'I can rest now.' _ In fact, all his thoughts were beginning to fade.

Suddenly, the man's stomach jumped as he felt that he was put in motion. He was going up. He could feel it as his body left the surface it had been on. Then a great vertigo made his head spin. He knew which direction was down and which was up, but a deep dread took hold of him as he realized he didn't know any other direction. He could be going in circles, or left or right. He had no idea. He just knew he was moving.

The whiteness was beginning to break up. The man could see splotches of dark colour, rushing towards him. Indistinct shapes began to take form. They were so far away. The man watched in fascination and horror as he continued towards them. His previously relaxed body began to tense up, each muscle trembling and waiting to be released into action.

The dark colours had become more diverse. Different shades of brown and greys, some splashes of red. Suddenly, when all the white was gone, he lurched to a stop. His stomach clenched and roiled, but he held back the urge to vomit. The wind chimes had ceased. The man wasn't sure when, but he noticed absently that they had stopped.

He tried to look around. The shapes and colours were still blurry, but more concrete. The wind chimes were gone, but it was not silent. He could hear water, something rustling. A voice! He whipped his head towards the voice. He put his hands up defensively, shielding his face and stomach. He searched wildly, trying to distinguish his surroundings.

The voice was speaking again. He slowed his actions, still tense. He listened. Words he didn't understand, a foreign language. His vision was slowly getting better; the images were becoming sharper. The voice paused.

"Hector." The word came out heavily accented, but the man recognized the word. Hector. It sounded very familiar.

"Hector Barbossa."

That was his name. The man's eyes grew large and he tilted his head back, looking for the speaker. "Aye," he croaked in a weary tone. "That's me."

"Yes, it be you," the voice was sly and playful. It was lighter in timber than his.

Hector Barbossa struggled to sit up. He had felt so strong and rested in the whiteness, but here in the dark toned world he had entered, he was weak as a newborn. He felt the speaker's hands on his shoulders, helping him.

"Drink this," the speaker said softly. Something touched against his lips. He brought his hands up to it. A mug. He held it shakily and drank it. The liquid burned his mouth and throat but bloomed into comforting warmth in his chest.

He blinked hard a couple of times and his vision became clear. He glanced back at the speaker. It was a woman with dark skin. Her lips were painted black and there were dark markings on her face. She smiled at him, a mischievous smile. "Hallo, Capt'n Barbossa."

"Where am I," he rasped, his own voice marginally better from the drink, "What happened? Who are you?"

"You don' remember?" the woman asked, her accent making her words alien and enticing. "You died, Barbossa. An' I brought you back. What do you remember?"

"Of being dead?"

"Aye."

"It was white," he coughed, "All white. An' peaceful." He frowned. "I was startin' ta drift away."

The woman leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. "Do you know who I am, Barbossa?"

He nodded, eyes narrowed at her. Memories from his life were returning, dancing in the back of his mind. "I remember yeh. Calypso."


End file.
